


Everyone has their own beginning.

by FlounderTech



Series: Lost Amis [1]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Lost Girl
Genre: Background - Freeform, Background Les Amis de l'ABC, Fae AU, Feuilly background, Feuilly is a teacher, Gen, No need of prior knowledge, Series, Supernatural amis, fae, les amis are Fae, little prior knowledge needed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-18
Updated: 2013-12-18
Packaged: 2018-01-05 00:39:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1087521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlounderTech/pseuds/FlounderTech
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Feuilly has everything that he could want. At least, he thought so.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Everyone has their own beginning.

**Author's Note:**

> None of these characters are mine - with exceptions to Beth and Feuilly's parents right at the beginning. They are mine.  
> The ideas of the Fae are not mine either - thank the creators of Lost Girl for that. 
> 
> Little actually needs to be known of Lost girl - I try and explain bits of it that are truly necessary. 
> 
> This is a lot of fun to write. Honestly. There will be more in this universe. A lot more.

Feuilly’s life had turned around. He had a girl, he had his parents.Heck – he was on his way to being a father himself. He’d even settled in the second school on his trip around France after gaining his licence to teach. Geography, of course. And not just the colouring kind either. No, he was more into the people there. The urban geography. Yes. Things were going well for the young man. He had settled. More than that, he was truly happy. It was no longer just the face that had followed him through University.

“Honey, I’m home!” It was that familiar line shouted at the beginning of every back-storied rom-com that was ever made about a married couple. Just, Bethan and Feuilly were yet to marry.

“Welcome back love. How was your day?” The British woman bounced on through to press a kiss against his cheek, grinning as he pulled her into a hug after a brief exclamation of love for the woman of his.

“Kids were... Kids. A bit of a pain but it was a wonderful day. It’s the first day back after Christmas, they’re testing their boundaries with the new teacher. Kids will be kids.” He grinned, hands resting neatly on her sides before kissing her softly, taking a moment or two before breaking away, taking her hand as she lead him through to the kitchen to finish the meal that was being prepped for the couple that evening, the man pushing himself up to sit on the table with ease. “How was yours?” He asked sweetly, head tilted ever so slightly to the side.

“Quiet. Very. Mr and Mrs Jepson popped over earlier to say hello and the next appointment is on the third.” She grinned, looking over to watch his face light up with pure glee at that. “In hope that you can make it?”

“Oh, my dear. That there is a silly question.” He grinned, swinging his legs lightly. “I’m never going to say no to joining you there.” That left them both with a wide grin on their lips, Bethan moving into his arms very briefly to become trapped there.

“Mm. What’s going on with your birthday dinner?”

“Ma’s cooking for us – said that Pop’ll come pick us up and get us there safe. We’re to bring a bottle or two.” She grinned and leant up to kiss him sweetly.

“Not a problem then.” He pressed his forehead gently against hers as she mumbled along with it, “When will we tell them?” Another brief kiss followed as he whispered the single word answer.

 

_Feuilly was a freshman when the girl first caught his eye. About half way through freshers week, he’d spotted her up behind the DJ booth of the club and his heart soared. That, there, was a girl he wanted to get to know, and he didn’t care what any of his new friends said. Yes she was a second year. So what. She was beautiful and he was feeling hopeful. At least, after downing that much alcohol, he did. Yet his new found friends were kind enough to hold him off, leaving him to sober up back home. That was one hell of an evening, he had to admit._

_It took another year before he actually gained the courage. He’d dated others, a lass here, a guy there, very much comfortable about not having a care in the world when it came to what people thought of his sexuality. He would date who he pleased, and if anyone had anything to say about it, they could deal with them in private. He wasn’t having any of it. Love was love and passion was passion. He gained the courage to ask her, ending up just saying hello in the middle of the library while turning up in the same part of the library, looking for similar things. He was simply curious. She was looking for her degree. “You don’t know where I could find stuff about the rural history of Poland?” He looked up to her, head tilted to the side ever so slightly as she handed a book down to him._

_“That’ll be one of the ones you’re after then.” She gave him a little smile as he stood up next to her, towering just a little over her. “There are a few others that are good reads, but that’s one of the better ones out there.”_

_“Thanks.” He grinned. “Name’s Feuilly.” He extended a hand out before looking at the book in her hand. “Thats a pretty decent one – what are you looking into?” She smiled and started to explain, before he started scanning the shelves, nodding and asking a few more questions, simply handing over whatever books he knew to be good on that topic and getting to know her better as the time went on._

_Through the months that they simply got to know each other, Feuilly discovered that Bethan was an international student who hailed from the south of England, which spurred many, many more questions and curiosities. It took a good part of that semester but they ended up dating soon enough, still discovering new things about each other as they went along. It was over this time that he knew she was the one. That one everyone has. His one._

_It took a while, but as he went into his post graduate degree, they’d been dating a good few years. Feuilly had spent the days in the library and his nights working in the Students Union’s bar both as a DJ, and behind the bar to work up enough money to both pay rent, and follow his plans. This particular day Bethan had decided that she would turn up to surprise the man, to find him down the same row of shelves that they had first met, sat on the floor with the books that he had handed her surrounding him, to the best that his memory had served him, reading through the book on the Rural History of Poland. His gaze lifted as he watched her feet shuffle closer and a wide smile lifted the corners of his lips. “Afternoon beautiful.”_

_“Feuilly? What are you doing?” Her words caused him to look up and he grinned oh so widely, rolling forward to hand her the book with post it notes written and stuck to the pages, which, in his neat handwriting made oh so much more ornate, held the words_

_“ **Bethan, you know how much I love you right?”**_

_She smiled, looking from the book to the man sat at her feet, nodding. “Duh, derbrain.” He made the gesture for her to turn over the page._

_“ **You love me that much too, right?”**_

_Again, she looked from the book to him, an eyebrow rising and a grin on her lips. “And more.” The same gesture followed._

**_“Will you do me the greatest honour..”_ **

_She dropped the book, the man at her feet who had been fumbling in his pocket to locate the box that was held in his left hand dived to catch the book, landing on his back and held up the box for her to open. By the looks of her face, she hadn’t read the rest but had guessed._

_“And will you marry me?” He asked her sweetly, red faced, looking up to her from under the book. And the answer was given in the form of a squeal and a flurry of nods._

The kids at school guessed almost immediately that he wasn’t one to get on the wrong side of – but he was a fun, jokey kind of teacher anyway. One the kids got on with. They had started with a topic that wasn’t on his branch of geography, but the core course was the core course and he had little choice in the matter. And as any good teacher would do, on his birthday he took a cake in for his form, who had initially terrified him but had settled down just a little, enough so that he could trust them with food in his class room, and gave out haribo’s to the other classes that he had – other than the sixth form, who got more cake. Each of them smiled sweetly and added a thank you on at the end as he passed with the edible treats. The school day, in other words, was great.

Feuilly stopped off on his way home into the supermarket to get a good look at the wine, trying to recall which his mother had said that she preferred, before picking up two fine wines and finishing his journey home. Bottles in hand, he fumbled about, trying to sort out his keys before Bethan moved to his side, taking one of them and pulled him inside, starting the rather usual routine for the day, the man hopping up onto the side. The difference was in the way the woman kissed him. It was simply _more_. A _more_ kiss. Her fingers caught themselves in his curls, his resting oh so neatly on her sides, fingers working in small circles. Their foreheads rested against each other when they pulled away and out of the kiss and her lips moved to form the words his ears picked up.

“Happy birthday darling.” They smiled against each other’s lips, sneaking in another brief kiss before Bethan encouraged him off of the table and through to settle on the sofa, sliding in just behind him to start working the muscles on his back, a hum of appreciation leaving the young man. “How was your day?” She asked sweetly, pressing a light kiss against the back of his neck, allowing the man to speak while she helped the whole relaxation process. And help him relax she did.

His father arrived around about six to pick the couple up, a grin on his lips as he greeted the woman he had always considered his daughter, and the man that was his son, wishing him a happy birthday with a hug that could easily be likened to that of a bear. Of course, Bethan didn’t miss out on this, she just got a less-bear like hug, as if he was more aware of his strength with the woman involved. He was a burly man – grizzled beard and large build. It was no surprise that he had been a rugby player in his day. It wasn’t a long journey in the car, but long enough that Feuilly and his bride-to-be were not expected to walk to visit. It would be even less if it had been her birthday with her parents.

On their arrival, his mother gave the couple a good look over before extending her arms (and in doing so her love) to the couple, grinning widely. “Happy birthday. dear!” The woman was such a lovable person, it was clear to see where a lot of Feuilly’s personality came from. He’d been raised by this woman and the love that she had for the boy (and the world, apparently) had been passed on to him. It was then that the smell of food hit the group bringing a wide grin to his lips.

“You shouldn’t have Ma.”

“It’s your birthday. You’re my son. A mother’s allowed to spoil her only child.” She grinned as he shook his head before ushering the group in, the table set, complete with plates of steaming food. He shook his head, moving to hold a chair out for Bethan to sit, doing much the same for his mother, grinning up to the both of them as he took his seat beside his love, father taking his place at the head of the table.

“So. We hungry?” His father’s question gained a nod and an eager murmur for food, the guests thanking the cook for the wonderful smelling table of food. Plates were handed around and the meat was carved, letting conversation take place around the group.

 

Feuilly wasn’t sure when it happened, after dinner, probably, but his mother and girlfriend had stood up and left the room, leaving just himself and his father in the room. It can only be assumed that their conversation took a turn to the worst because when the pair came back in, the man was pinned against the wall by something that wasn’t there, his hands clawing lightly at his neck and kicking at the ground for stability ever so slightly, the young man stood with his arm out, hand clenched into a fist. It was quite clear that the man wasn’t going to let go. It was one thing too far for him and something snapped. Something that had been held in him for, effectively, his life. One could say that it was ingrained in him. His very being filled around this one tiny (massive) thing. It was a very... unhuman thing to do. It was quite clear from the outside that it was Feuilly’s doing, that his father was pinned against the wall by such a force as that which he was held there. And he didn’t let him down, no. Not until the man had stopped squirming in the grasp. It was effortless, and it gave him a pleasure that he had never known before. Almost in a fit of hunger, his rage from the past years grew from everything that had been bottled up. Every reason he had that mask on. His hands flicked towards the two women, his mother flying to the side and Bethan flew backwards. The older woman let a scream, soon to be cut off as her son stood above her.

“He told you, didn’t he.” The man didn’t reply, his eyes empty of everything that had made him who he was. There was no compassion or care in them as he held his mother in his sight.

“What... Am I?” He hissed, staring her down, his hand extended and holding her down.

“Not the man I... I raised you... to be...” She stuttered. “We... Should have said... about it earlier...” The man didn’t give her a chance to explain any further, his hand closing into a fist with a flick of the wrist, leaving her looking somewhat disfigured.

It was, however, as his gaze fell on Bethan that his heart melted through its iron case. The red faded from around his vision and he realised soon enough that the red wasn’t just the rage that had coursed through him. His mouth opened and closed, looking a little like a goldfish, shock running through him, replacing the anger that had made its way through his veins, his stern features melting and tears no longer threatened to fall but fell down his cheeks, leaving silent trails down his cheeks.

“I’m sorry...” He whispered, collapsing to his knees in front of the woman. “I’m so, so fucking sorry.” He swallowed, looking up at her.

“Wh-wh-who are you?” She mumbled, coughing a little, fluid leaving her mouth and landing over her clothes. The same liquid that was running through the fabric of the legs of his jeans and staining his skin. “W-what have you d-done to my Feuilly?” She asked, still coughing up that as she started to leave him. It was then that the situation truly hit him. He was surrounded by the blood of the love of his life. This was the one that he truly wished no harm to – the flick of his wrist was to push her out the way... so she wouldn’t be harmed. Yet through her was part of a broken cupboard, the wood splintered and pointing out from just underneath her ribs.

“It-Its me...” He stuttered, just staring at her. “I’m right here.” He picked up her hand, lifting it to his face for proof of it, to be pushed weakly away.

“No.” It was the last strong protest. “Y-you are not the m-man I fell in love with.” She spat at him, the man scrambling away and curling up in a corner, hand extending and ending the poor girls life, and getting rid of the last slither of happiness that he had left.

 

Feuilly settled on the bed of the dingy motel, watching both the screen and the window. He knew what he had done and he didn’t remember much of it. But he remembered those last words and that last action. He had lost more than he could ever imagine in that one day. Not only had he physically lost the people he loved most in the world that day. No, that wasn’t punishment enough. He had lost every certainty he had about life. What was he? Who was he? Those who he thought were his parents, were not truly his parents. He was certain about nothing. Not even that he was alive. He wasn’t human, that’s for sure. The TV showed the scene that he had run from and left immediately, having stopped off at home briefly for the change of clothes and the money that had paid for his room and bus this far. He would be on the move again the next morning. At least, as soon as he could get any sleep.

It took him a good few days of travelling and two motels later before he came across a small inn, L’ABC. It was dark and dingy, but if it had a place to stay and a job running, the now ex teacher would do so. Of course, it was closed at that point.

From behind the bar, and out from a relatively small door, a short man came through, hobbling along a little before hopping up onto what Feuilly assumed was a stool. “What can I do for you?” The man tilted his head and the confused man simply nodded, brows rising for a moment.

“Y’don’t have a job going, do you? Or a room... Either would be amazing.” He was stumbling over his points and his words, looking at the man carefully. He was surprisingly short; his head balding just a little and dressed in a jacketless suit. And at his question, the man simply chuckled.

“My dear boy, we’re not a safe house for nothing you know.” He hopped down off of the stool and moved out from behind the bar, clutching a key that he had fished from his pocket. “So long as you tell me what you’re running from.” Feuilly swallowed and looked at the man who held the key, blinking many, many times as the little man beheld him in his sights. Should he tell him that he had killed his family in a fit of rage? Could he manage to do that? The confused boy didn’t think so, and in a moment of panic, the word left his mouth and he had to go with it.

“Myself.” His eyes were wide as he attempted to still his shaking hands by shoving them deep into her pockets. “M-myself and my past.”

“Not the answer I’m looking for. Few would make it into my locked bar if it were only yourself and your past.” The keeper sighed before nodding ever so slightly. “Though, I’ll let you off my boy, at least for tonight.” With that, the key was handed over and Feuilly came out with a stream of thanks, starting off towards the one set of stairs that he could see thus far.

“Boy.” The man called once more. “What’s your name?” Again, Feuilly turned to get another look at him, nodding almost to himself. Surely he should be honest about something.

“Feuilly. My name is Feuilly.” He started off a little more before turning again. “Might I ask for yours?”

“The name’s Combeferre.” The pair smiled and the short man simply nodded. “Up these stairs and to the right dear boy, that way you’ll end up in the cellar.”

“Thank you. I’ll start working for this in the morning.” Ferre simply nodded and ushered him off to deal with re-locking up and settling down himself.

 

A few days passed with Feuilly working hard. The bar was quiet for the first few days, before a bar fight broke out between a pair of men. Feuilly moved out from behind the bar, attempting to break it up and failing, on the most part, to do so. Without him truly realising, he backed up and extended his hands, flinging them to each side, the two men (one with a striking resemblance to a Wolf, the other simply snarling at the other). There was no screaming until the man who had said resemblance to a wolf, had a true resemblance to a wolf, tooth and claw, fur sprouting a little. It was then that the mans apparent power was broken and the wolfish man was pushing him against the wall.

“Grantaire. Let the boy be.”

“I don’t recognise him.” The wolf man snarled from in front of him. “Not even his scent is familiar.”

“He’s making use of the safe house Grantaire.”

“He’s a fucking _Mesmer._ ” Feuilly was pushed further back into the wall, wincing ever so slightly. “You know what I think of them.”

“He’s under my protection. So if you don’t mind, Officer, back off my staff.” Combeferre threw the wolf man a look, one that sent fear through the eyes of him.

“Get me some wine then. A bottle.”

“Taire.” A voice warned from the door and Feuilly turned his gaze to a tall blonde who broke the beams of light and showed the shadows. “Ferre, give us both a glass please.” The short man simply nodded, moving to pull the man who had been introduced as Grantaire off to the side, scolding him as he went.

As Combeferre dealt with the pairs order, Feuilly moved towards the back room, running a hand through his hair as he tried to take the past few moments in to be digested and understood. And he stayed there for a while, his head tilted to the side and a panic started to swell within him. He was terrified that the wolf knew. The wolf, he assumed, was with the police. How could he deal with this situation? The man who had taken him in appeared around the corner, taking him by the arm and took him down into a separate room.

It was decorated with reds and oranges, colourful and bright with patterns that the man didn’t recognise and items that didn’t look like they belonged to human kind. It scared Feuilly a little more than anything else. He recognised so little when it came to the artefacts that decorated the room. The man was sat down on one of the chairs in the middle of the room and Combeferre stood just infront of him.

“Light or Dark?”

“What?”

“Are you Light Fae, or are you Dark Fae?”

“What are Fae? Why are they split in two?” Feuilly’s eyes were wide as he stared at the short, red faced man right in front of him. He was confused and being bombarded with this information was terrifying him even more than he already was. Nothing was sinking in. “And what is a Mesmer?” Combeferre stopped straight in front of him, looking him in the eye.

“Tell me exactly why you were on the road, Feuilly.”

The man refused initially, but as he attempted to lift his hand, he discovered he was bound. Struggling briefly, he failed to get himself free, starting to share the tale that he had tried to ignore, focusing more on the fact it was an accident. Combeferre started to ask questions, based on the fact that he had no idea what was going on.

The lack of movement remained after Combeferre left the room, leaving the blonde man who had stayed quiet in the corner to watch him, at least til a relatively young looking bald man moved through and started to introduce himself. Feuilly simply stared at him in disbelief. He couldn’t have been much taller, nor older, than himself.

“Enjolras, leave us for a few minutes, will you?”

“But Sir...”

“Trust me, man. I’m not going to do something stupid.”

“Bossuet, I believe that you would be safer if you were not alone with this Mesmer.”

“Enjolras. Leave us.” The bald mans tone darkened just a little, turning and watching as the blond haired man left the room behind him. It worried him to be left there in a basement with no-one really around to protect him. So maybe worry was an understatement.

Feuilly was terrified.

The man approached him and pulled a chair up – only to successfully catch his leg and stumble forward towards the confused Mesmer, before placing himself down. He was safer that way.

“So. I hear you don’t know anything about our kind?” He crossed one leg over the other, simply taking a look at the young man in front of him. Bossuet sighed and leant forward. “My name is Bossuet, I am the Ash, leader of the Light. It is an honour to be in the company of one of the last Mesmers.”

“The... The last Mesmer?”

“ Not quite the last Mesmer. Just one of them. Your kind are feared by many – you’ve seen what you can do with those powers. You don’t just effect humans, Fae are at risk as well. The use of your hands can be one of the most powerful and dangerous  weapons that the world has seen. Believe me when I say that many of my people would want me to see you dead, not alive. I, however, believe that even the most dangerous of men have a choice. And there will come a time where you have to pick a side. For everyones sake, I hope you choose wisely.” Bossuet gave the man a smile and nodded a little. “I take it that I am safe to untie you?”

“Yes. Please. I mean... Uh, yes sir.” The next thing that Feuilly knew, his hands had been untied. Bringing them into sight, he rubbed his wrists lightly. “Why would I have to choose? Can I not just stay in the middle? Undecided?”

“That, I’m afraid, breaks tradition. Honestly, I dislike this fact as well, but it was written in the laws that our kind follows that every fae must choose either the light or the dark. The blood king wrote it and it has been upheld as long as anyone can remember. That is not to say that the boundaries are crossed by none.” The powerful man turned his head a moment towards where Enjolras had been and seemed to sigh, before rising and offering the boy a hand. “Its been a pleasure, Feuilly. I hope to see you again soon, if Combeferre will still have you as a barman here.”

“Th-Thank you sir.” Feuilly smiled, extending his hand to shake Boussets, before placing himself back down in the seat and watched as the curiously impressive man left his sights.

 

It would certainly take time, but Feuilly could see himself settling into life at L’ABC, ending up talking to a nymph who he believed was called Jehan about the deeper things, the meaning behind the two sides of the Fae and how bridging the gap between Fae and Humans had been a romantic thing in the other mans eyes. There was an Incubus who frequented the bar with Grantaire had taken a shine to him as well, Feuilly believed his name was Courfeyrac.

Courf occasionally brought along a human friend of his, Eponine, who tended to make the group laugh with witty comments about those who had filled the bar around them. Feuilly couldn’t help but think she was almost the light of the bar. There were nights where conversation got heavy, and she pulled them out of it with a comment. Let alone the fact that she was so different to the others yet such an integral part of the group. She was his hope of settling in at the bar.

Admittedly, Eponine wasn’t the only human who joined the group. There was another gent, Joly, who joined the group – usually on days that Boussuet was there – who either bandaged up Grantaire from yet another bar fight, or was the one being informed that no, for the umpteenth time, he wasn’t ill. One thing he had noticed was the fact that it was usually Bossuet or a woman who would usually turn up to take the two of them home and ensure they weren’t overly drunk who could pull him out of the state that he would get himself in over his belief that he was constantly ill. He was a nice guy, it almost surprised Feuilly when he was informed that, although both in a relationship with the same woman, and such a connection with Boussuet, he was under the control of the Dark Fae. Yet he couldn’t work out why that confused him so. People were vague as to what kind of Fae Mussicheta was – as was she. Comments were made about her being a guide of sorts, Ferre being in great need of borrowing her powers every so often and things such as that, but little more was said. Yet there was a fear in everyones eyes when she turned up overly stressed to pull the couple out of the bar and barely say hello. However much they all loved her – she could be terrifying if she wanted to. Not Valkirye terrifying either. Just pure terrifying.

The last of the group was the one that Feuilly was pretty sure even he couldn’t control. Bahorel was an ogre of grand size. Of course, he looked no more than a well built-if-a-little-intimidating human. Maybe little was an understatement. He was often one to help pull the wolf-man out of a barfight and take his place instead. Almost as if he was family. In a way, the bond that they had with the dark suggested that it would be the case.

If he was honest, to Feuilly, found himself pretty damned sure that they were just this one big family with a feud going on somewhere in the distance and this group just didn’t give one.

Yes. He would get along just fine here. 


End file.
